This my opinion.  This may turn into a discussion.  If anyone in the class uses the F-word out of line, they will be taken to the principal’s office and promptly suspended without recess.  Or lunch.

Hi, my name is Alan.  And I’m gay.

That isn’t the first thing you should know about me.  The first thing I would tell you, if you asked, is that I’m a writer.  I’m also a workaholic.  I’m bad in relationships.  I love hiking and cooking and hanging out at malls, watching strange people buy stranger things.  All of these things make up who I am.

But that’s not what you want to know.  And my saying ‘you’, is a general.  I’ve inferred it, ‘cause, gosh, everyone just has such strong opinions on my sexuality.

I like men.  Most of you probably do, too.  We’re not sure why, are we?  Men are assholes.  They’re not always sincere.  They jerk you around, but they make you feel pretty.  Sometimes, they buy you dinner before they sleep with you.  Occasionally, we land a good one.  A solid guy with good morals who’s maybe great in bed.  We have a lot in common with them.  They’re the keepers.

But a lot of guys aren’t like that.  Some girls probably aren’t, either, but I’m gay, so we’re talking about men.

Guess what?  Men treat me like shit, too.  I’ve dated some of them.  Because love is weird like that.  It distorts our reality.  It messes with our emotions.  I’d love to know what to expect out of relationship, but, golly, I grew up with no good role models.

The world thinks I’m a deviant.  And I am.  But for reasons that don’t involve my preference for men.  I want a good relationship, just like anyone else.  Maybe I do want roses.  A movie.  A friendly game of basketball.   But I’m not sure what to expect when I start dating a guy.

Because we learn these social norms from the people around us.  From popular media.  From things like movies and books and comics.  They teach us what to expect.  How to act.  The signs that say, ‘whoa, maybe I’m being treated really poorly and should breakup with this asshole’.

But we don’t have that.  In media, gays (and lesbians) are sexualized.  We’re comedy relief—because our lives are just so fabulous and funny.  We’re tragic.  Brokeback Mountain—maybe it was a love story.  Maybe it wasn’t.  But it was ours.

Great.  Just what I want when I go see a movie.  To remember the bad parts of my existence.  It’s like deciding to watch City of Angels because it’s the only heterosexual movie on the market.

Isn’t that awesome?

What did that teach us?  Anyone in the class care to venture?  

And more importantly, what is my point?

People in the comics fandom get really pissed off when people like me want more gay characters in mainstream.  They think I’m being selfish—that my want is somehow wrong. Or less?  I’m not entirely sure, actually.  What I do know is that people (again, this is a general) seem to have a problem with my discontent.

I’m often told that I should be satisfied with what I’m given.  DC, for example, has several tertiary couples that are gay and lesbian.  That should be enough.  Change comes slowly; society takes time to catch up.

Wow.  I hadn’t noticed.  I should have thought of that, been comforted by that, when I was getting the shit kicked out of me in high school.  It would have lulled me right to sleep at night.

Our wanting characters like us—with our preferences—has nothing to do with sex and everything to do with who we are.  Human interaction has a common element, but the nuances of those elements change depending on gender, which also happens to be a societal construct.

And women, as beautiful as they are, are different from me.  I don’t relate to their relationships with men.  I don’t superimpose myself onto them.  And men in relationships with women act differently.

So the next time you have a knee jerk reaction about someone wanting to see more gay characters, please keep this in mind.  I’m 35.  I’ve seen society change and I am happy with the direction it’s heading.

But if we don’t bitch.  If we don’t moan.  If we don’t rant and rail and remind people that we’re here, nothing will change.  The heterosexual majority will think we are content with the scraps we’re being thrown.

And I am not content.  I am enraged.  I am angry and bitter and trying so hard not to be the diva that society says I am.  The queen.  The bitchy, sassy, limp-wristed, candy-ass, lisping faggot that popular media says that I am.

If only I’d had a hero growing up.  A Superman that I could relate to.

Maybe I wouldn’t be putting my rage boots on.  Maybe my last relationship would have lasted.  Maybe our communication lines wouldn’t’ve crossed.  Because we would have known.  We wouldn’t be guessing all the goddamn time.

So get off your moral high horse and think before you speak.

Class dismissed.

“I can see why the boss has such a thing for you,” Jason murmured against the side of his neck. Dick swallowed around the gag in his mouth and glared as his younger brother pulled back. The curved blade traced the line of his jaw, ending at his chin. He jerked his arms, a futile show of strength that got him little more than a laugh. Panting, the tight fabric wet in his mouth, he worked his lips to no avail.

“Struggle,” the younger man encouraged, standing. “Please. Nothing could possibly make me happier.” He flashed a grin. A quick flick of his wrist buried the tip of the blade into the surface of the table beside him. “Ok, that was a lie. But I’ll let you wonder.”

The Red Hood paced forward, gripping Nightwing’s chin in his hands and jerking the man’s attention upward, painfully so, making his back arch against his bonds.  

“So pretty like this,” the Hood mused, running his thumb along Dick’s lower lip, collecting the spittle that gathered at the corners. “I could see him wanting you.”

Dick jerked his head and the grip became crushing; Jason narrowed his eyes, crouching before him.

“But I have you now,” he whispered. “And the things I would do to you…”

Dick’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. His breath drew sharply through his nose as his hands pulled relentlessly, trying to work the knots at his wrists.

But they were Robin’s knots. Expertly tied. Because Batman didn’t allow for failure.

“Things Bruce wouldn’t,” Jason continued, his voice low and suggestive. His eyes flickered across Dick’s face, the marks he had left, the reminder of the struggle the older man had given before finally being subdued.

“And you would have laid down for him, wouldn’t you?” the younger man purred, brushing his lips over the recent gash that defined Dick’s high cheekbone, tasting iron. Tasting blood. “You would have given him anything he asked, simply because it was him.”

Dick shuddered, covering it with another forceful jerk.  

“He trained us all the same, didn’t he, brother?” Jason breathed against his ear. “Made us perfect soldiers in his fucking war. Obedient. There’s nothing like the rush you get when he gives you an order, is there, Dick?”

The older man’s breath shortened and his chest heaved, obvious in the black, revealing spandex of Nightwing’s uniform. Jason’s chuckle was dark and knowing.

“When he barks for you to follow,” Jason snapped and Dick jumped, his eyes wide. “When he tells you that his word is law…” The man’s hand came up to stroke his brother’s cheek fondly. “Then there is just him and you and you can’t stand it when he looks at anyone else because there’s only you and his perfect orders…”

Jason’s hand slid down to Dick’s throat. “And your perfect obedience.”  

Dick groaned as his brother’s fingers wrapped around his throat. He tossed his head and tried to speak around the gag.

“The perfect soldier,” Jason whispered, adding light pressure to his hand. “Every mission is everything you ever wanted and you just…wait…”

Dick’s breath grew ragged. The younger man pulled back, searching his brother’s desperate eyes.

“You just wait for him to say it.”

Nightwing’s brow creased. There was pain behind his eyes. Spirit. Revulsion.  

The corner of Jason’s mouth curled. Just a little. Just enough. Because Batman never smiled.

“You’ve done well, Robin.”

Dick inhaled sharply, his breathing rapid. Jason’s fingers tightened and his brother’s shoulders slumped and in his eyes—

Acceptance.

When Nightwing’s head fell, the Red Hood allowed it.

“Such a pretty bird,” he murmured and Dick made a sound like sobbing. “All you ever wanted was to please him. His attention. His touch.” Jason’s hand moved down his brother’s muscled torso.

“So much faith in a flawed man. So much trust. So much love.”

Dick shook his head, his hair falling forward into his eyes. Jason’s expression was cunning and calm.

“Do you think he loves you, brother? The way he so easily replaced you with me. Me with that rich brat…do you think he’s capable of it? Do you think he has the capacity?” Jason’s hand was around his throat again, forcing his head up. Dick’s eyes were red and raw and pleading.

“All you want,” Jason said softly, almost affectionately. “Is to be used and loved, isn’t it, Dick? To give yourself to someone that will hold you down and call your name and force your obedience.”

Dick’s expression nearly crumbled. He mouthed at the gag, gnashing and panting.

Jason smiled, brushing the dark hair from Dick’s face. “I think you’d look stunning in a collar, Dick.”

The older man froze. There was terror in his eyes. And something else.

Jason thumbed at his Adam’s apple, dipping below his torn uniform. “Something in black, maybe. Or blue…”

“I could give you that,” he murmured. “Would you let me? Would you obey as unconditionally?”

Dick’s eyes slid shut as Jason’s tongue replaced his thumb, his head falling back. The younger man kissed and sucked at the skin of his throat and Nightwing could only groan around the gag, no longer fighting.

“You give me that, brother,” Jason whispered harshly, “and I will give you everything he couldn’t. Everything he wouldn’t. Join me, and I will make you flawless.”

Dick turned his head to the side, his face pained.

“Will you, Robin?” the Red Hood persisted. “Trust me and I will make you perfect.” His tone softened. “I will make you mine.”

Something like a whimper caught between Dick’s mouth and the cotton gag. Jason’s hands moved up with his lips, tugging at the knotted ends.  

“Be mine, brother,” he mouthed against Nightwing’s jaw as the fabric fell away. Dick’s breath hitched and he swallowed wetly.

“Will you?”

Dick was tense in his arms, bound hand to foot with an expert’s attention to detail. His head was the only part free to move and he used it then…

…to nod weakly.

“Yes,” he croaked, throat dry. Then, “Yes.”

Jason’s smirk was sultry and satisfied. “Good…”

He kissed him then, gentle. Forceful. Controlling. Demanding. Loving. Like Dick was the only thing in his world. And Dick opened his mouth and gave it all to him willingly. Surrendering, slack, and sucking when Jason told him to and breathing when Jason allowed him to.

And it was everything he ever wanted. But more. It wasn’t Bruce, but it was enough.

When Jason pushed him back, Dick didn’t protest. And when his bonds were cut, he did as he was told, getting to his hands and knees.

And when Jason told him to suck, he closed his eyes and prayed to god that it pleased him.

When Jason murmured Robin over and over, with a firm, steady hand in Dick’s hair, it was perfect.

And when he growled and filled Dick’s mouth and throat, stroking his hair and telling him how well he’d done, the older man almost cried.

Jason called him pretty. Beautiful.

Perfect.

And it was enough.

Challenge: Bondage
Pairing: Jason/Dick
by Scout

—

“Bet it feels good to be back up here, huh, Dickie?”

Smooth and low voice breathing above him.

Dick moans into the gag around his lips, thrusting into the warm and wet hand flitting agains his aching member.

He wants to come so bad, tied up all pretty like a present waiting to be unwrapped.

It’s quiet where they are, the faint rush of wind against tough, heavy fabric whistling outside. Jason’s weight is frightening and comforting at the same time. It’s no secret that the younger man is heavier than Dick is. And the ropes sliding against him may have been built for endurance, but the trapeze lines are old.

Dick has no intention of disrespecting the death of his parents falling to his death naked.

There’s a safety net below them on the ground though, at least four stories away in measurement. The distance gets him a little high. It’s the feeling of flying that courses through his veins and pumps his heart until it explodes.

Dick’s hanging sprawled in the middle of his childhood, the faded colors of the Big Top dark in the dead of night. The entire tent is deserted.

The Original Boy Wonder is caught between two trapeze bars. They’ve been pulled towards each other to reach the center of the ring, tied securely to long and lean limbs veiled with a thin coat of sweat. There’s a set of thick rope binding both bars to each other, and another coiling tightly around Dick’s legs.

The rough strands twirl around the arch of his feet, pressing just enough to make him moan. The very same rope slithers up his ankles and just above his calves, crisscrossing between his thighs and purposefully merging at the bottom of his cleft. It’s a thick and obscene sort of string cradle running from beneath his balls, and between his ass up to the back of his neck, branches of pliant rope artfully diverging to wrap and support his back, shoulders and torso.

There’s a third set claiming his hands and arms. They’re in a similar fashion, running around the sensitive spot between Dick’s thumbs and forefingers before dancing across his wrists and biceps. And the final piece of rope is around his head, sinking into his mouth and rubbing against pearly white teeth and a wet, wet tongue.

“Nngg.” He tries to answer Jason, eyes glinting with lust above him. The skin where they’re touching electric with heat and sweat.

Jason’s up here with him too. Riding Dick like a rocking horse in the fucking middle of a circus tent. Above the fucking middle of a circus tent. They’re swaying slightly from the momentum of the trapeze bars. One of Jason’s hands play with a particular rope connected to the knot pressing against his sorely neglected opening.

The smooth material is snugly fit between his ass cheeks, and Dick bets it isn’t a mere coincidence that Jason’s placed a genuinely pointed knot over where the rope passes under his hole. And it’s starting to dig into him.

Kinky bastard.

“Nn-ahh.” He says around the rope in his mouth. It’s getting soaked with so much spit. Fibers starting to split and thread. He’s trying to push his tongue through, get it closer to Jason.

His lips. His skin. His sweat.

Dick thinks he needs to taste Jason or he’ll run out of oxygen before he can even drop to his death.

And Jason? Jason’s just laughing at him. Eyes bright and cock rubbing against his bare abdomen, slick with precome and sweat, sweat, sweat. Both their sweat.

He’s glaring at him through the dark.He’s grunting noisily to the air, reveling in the fact that this is their show and anyone can look up and watch.

But only the two of them get to be like this. Be so fucking high above everyone that they feel like they’re flying.

Because that’s what sex with Jason is like.

The second Robin stops abruptly from rocking against him, he also stops from stroking Dick’s cock and dear god, did he get shot?

Jesus fucking christ, even if he got shot Jason wouldn’t stop.

‘Why did you stop?’ he wants to ask. All that comes out is a high whine passing through his lips, “Mmmh.”

“Shh,” Jason whispers with a smirk, “I just thought of a grand finale.”

And then he’s twisting around, turning his back to Dick’s face. Muscles sinewy and arched perfectly. He can feel Jason’s cock pressing against his abdomen.

Jason slowly drags it up Dick’s chest, body sliding down until he’s pressed every inch of himself flush against Dick. The younger man’s legs are dangling by his shoulders, hole temptingly close to his still-bound lips.

A sudden wet slurp echoes between them and Dick is screaming against his bonds, shaking and writhing in the air. The trapeze bars and ropes vibrate and sway with every movement. Sending them in a soft lulling wave from one side to the other.

Hot, wet lips sucking him down to the hilt.

Sucking him in the fucking air.

Hard, thick cock thrusting directly on his breastplate. Precome licking his skin.

‘Ah’ he screams perfectly in his head. ‘Ah’ his voice is perfect and there’s no rope cutting off his wanton cries. ‘Ahh’ his mouth whines before taking Jason’s cock in his mouth and swirling his tongue around its head, rubbing it with the tip before sucking, sucking, sucking.

But it’s Jason doing all of it instead of him. Jason sucking his heart through his dick and drinking it down like the best alcohol around. Jason pulling back by just an inch, rubbing callused fingers on the crown of his length. Slicking and slicking before sucking him in again and digging long digits into him. Past that fucking tease of a knot against his quivering hole.

It’s Jason twisting into him. Jason pressing just the right spot. Jason humming with a mouthful of Dick—in both senses.

It’s all Jason. And him fucking in midair just to show the stars how good he’s got it.

How high Dick gets him. How high he can fly by just touching him.

Because that’s what being in love with Jason is like.

Fact #1: I am not going to make my self-imposed writing deadline this weekend due to work-related things.

Fact #2: I have started the Bruce/Jason mini series that explains their backstory.

Fact #3: It may be the cutest fucking thing I’ve ever written.

Fact #4: I can’t write a public Bruce Wayne without laughing.  

—-

Jason grinned when their eyes met; the pants and striped polo shirt Alfred had picked out for him that morning were torn and stained with dirt and blood. A darkening bruise on his left cheek gave his mentor a pretty good indication as to why he had been called out of the office on such short notice. Slouched in the chair, his arms throw over the side, Jason’s attitude was outwardly belligerent. He waved his hand.

“Hey, Bruce.”

The billionaire gave his slacks a small tug as he sat in the other chair.

“Jason. I’m pretty sure you didn’t look like that when you left home this morning.”

The boy snorted, swiping a hand under his nose. “I fell off my bike.”

The principal cleared his throat, resuming his position behind his desk. Jason spared him the barest of glances.

“I fell off my bike into a bunch of a-holes.”

Bruce was polite enough not to smile past the plastered playboy expression he’d worn into the room. But Jason could see the amusement flicker at the corner of his eyes. Shifting forward, he looked to the principal.

“So what appears to be the problem, Mr. Randall? My boy says he fell off his bike. Has he been to see a nurse?”

charcoalmink:

this is for the great and wonderful and absolutely ohmygod-worthy alan who writes the best fucking fanfics ever. like, ever. like, ever. like,

EVER.

and he mentioned he wanted breakfast sex. so, uhh, i attempted it. and i’ve been wanting to write another batboys fic for a while, soooo. here you go.

ohmygodholyfuckingshiti’mnervous

fandom: batman
rating: nc-17
pairing: bruce/jason

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 You have just sent me to bed with the biggest hard on most lovely images.  Please never be afraid to grace me with porn.  This was magnificent.  They were so perfectly in character.   I love their tension.  Their action.  The insertion of the Batvoice.

Damian and Alfred.   Brilliant.  He would run interference, wouldn’t he? He would have to; Bruce wouldn’t give a shit about being seen.

And you have systematically destroyed my ability to type.  If you only knew how many times I had to hit the backspace just writing this, you would understand my love for this fic.

Thank you so very much.  I adore it.